Preferences
by ALittleFangirl
Summary: After your success with the Frenchman, you move on in hopes of getting a reaction from one English gentleman. Rated M for suggestive themes, fourth wall is broken, gender-neutral second-person narration. Suggested England/France, Spain, Denmark, China, Ottoman Empire, and Netherlands(and a tiny hint of England/America). No longer a oneshot.
1. France

He takes a sip of his wine-Chardonnay, light, sweet, and fun, just like the smirk on his face as he looks up from under beautiful eyelids that hide the tops of cerulean eyes that seem to glint with mischievous intentions.

You take a gulp as that sultry voice of his only intensifies the warm blush on your cheeks. "What an...interesting question, ma cherie." He purrs-very much like a cat that just swallowed the canary and knows he got away with it. "You want to know what kind of lovers I prefer?" You nod slowly, your entire attention captured by the beautiful man who has given his entire attention to you. "Would you rasser start wiss 'ow I like to top or 'ow I like to bottom?"

Your cheeks turn a darker shade of red and you manage to squeak out one word, the wine glass in your own hand trembling. "T-Top." You put it down to focus on taking notes as the Frenchman's smirk widens.

"Oui, oui. Well, I like two kinds of bottoms, ma cherie. When I'm in a rasser feisty mood, I like to 'ave to fight to get my satisfaction, so I'll prey on tsun-tsun types, like mon petit Angleterre. Of course, sometimes 'e can put up /too/ much of a fight and I end up getting pounded into a wall." He chuckles nervously and takes another sip of his wine. You jot this down, nibbling at your bottom lip in concentration before looking up at him to continue. "And ze second type is when I feel rasser predatory, I want somessing easy, I want somessing to destroy, so I will go after innocent little bottoms, usually virgins since it is rare for someone to be innocent when zey 'ave already made love before, hoho~ Of course, ze exception to zis rule in Espagne, 'e is so adorable and clueless and always quite satisfying in bed." The Frenchman licks his lips and his gaze turns unnecessarily lusty as you shrink back from the stare. You cough lightly and look down at your notepad to add the new information and avoid being caught up by irresistable blue eyes that seem to bore into every kind of desire you had entertained for even one second.

_The Frenchman was atop of you, licking his lips as he observed your nude form and he began to press his lips to your neck. You give a shiver as those smooth, warm lips trail down to-_

He gives a light cough as you snap back to the reality of the man who is still clothed on the couch, taking a sip of his wine and raising an eyebrow. "Shall we move onto 'ow I like to be topped now?" You flush and stammer out some kind of confirmation as he looks up, thinking. "I do like to be taken roughly occasionally-which is ze only reason Arssur can catch me off guard and bend me over ze coffee table and..." Your eyes are as big as saucers as he cuts off and shakes his head with a quiet snicker. "And I also like to be taken carefully, wiss great precision and order. Which is why I 'ave let Allemagne conquer ze Eiffel Tower more zan once." He winks and you turn a faint red, mind zoning out into another wild fantasy.

_He squirmed and struggled under you as you tweaked a nipple, his arms yanking down on the chains that keep him in place beneath you. You ground your hips into him and he gave a long moan, rambling in French, begging for you to-_

He coughs again, eyes sparkling with amusement as you stop imagining naughty things and focus on him again. "Any osser questions, ma cherie, or per'aps you would like...a demonstration?" You blush violently and drop your head to avoid answering the question, and he stands up and slowly closes in on you. "Let's see what kind of lover you are, shall we?"


	2. England

"Oh, you can't be bloody serious-I am certainly not going to answer questions as vulgar as that!" The Englishman slams the door in your face before you can utter a half-baked protest. Through the door, you can hear the island nation shuffling around, grumbling about nosy reporters and how did you even find this place anyhow. With a grin only a determined reporter could summon, you casually mention that he must be so much more uptight than everyone else, particularly the French nation. You hear him stomp back to the door and swing it open, giving you a nasty glare under the thick bushes he called eyebrows. With a begrudging sigh, he invites you in and you sit down as he prepares his tea.

Already, your mind is working in overload, watching the former pirate bent over a kettle on the stove as he finally mutters, "Out with it. You said you have questions of an 'intimate nature,' did you?" You flush slightly as you fumble your words initially before finally spitting out your request. The Englishman's entire body stiffens the moment you mention 'bottoming' and you can see the back of his neck begin to redden.

It takes him a few minutes to sit down and look you in the eye, caterpillars furrowed deeply, calculating what he wants to say. "Well…I am a gentleman, so I'm sure I can't tell you such sordid details." He leans back on his loveseat, a smug grin crossing his face. You shake your head, that's not an answer. With a grumpy huff, he twists his face around, trying to find a way to escape your expecting gaze.

"Fine, fine…I suppose, occasionally, I will….romp in the sheets with that /frog/ - not that I enjoyed it so much as he's said!" He stammers, fists clenching slightly in his lap. "It's that….sometimes….he gets me so frustrated – not always in that way, stop looking at me like that, wanker – that I can't help but want to…" He trails off, cheeks a hot, flustered red. He looks immensely relieved when the kettle whistles, and with a hasty excuse, he rushes off to prepare the tea. In the meanwhile, your eyes fall to your notebook as you jot down his words, biting your lip, eyes glazing over….

_The Englishman's atop you, but you're in control, both hands on his hips as you drive his movements. He lets out a long whining moan, his nails digging into your shoulders—_

"Now what's that face you're making for?!" He snaps you out of your fantasy and your face flushes again. He sets a tray down-a lovely floral tea pot and matching cups and saucers, an adorable little pitcher of cream, and a sugar bowl. "Bloody hell, no! I'll have you know back in the day I was quite the conqueror!" He insists, pouring tea for the both of you-it smells like Earl Grey and irritability. Despite the indignation in his voice, he is careful with the tea pot, fingers poised atop the lid to keep it from falling while he carefully avoids your hungry gawking. "Why, I had my way with all sorts- that smug Spaniard with his tight little pants, the Dane, and especially that snail-eating toad!" He sits back with his tea cup, having dropped a single cube of sugar in it, and stirs it, no longer paying much attention to you as you pour a copious amount of cream and several cubes of sugar into your own cup.

"Now that I think about it, I did get to have my way with all sorts, yes, let's see…China, the Ottoman 'Empire'-" He sneers triumphantly at this. "The Dutch man…"

_You blink blearily as your knees hit the deck, long English fingers forcing your chin up to face the devious smile on the pirate's face. The ocean air clogs your throat as you struggle to focus in the moonlight, wind biting your skin as you nod slightly, hands clutching at the fine coat the captain wears, fumbling until they reach his breeches and tug—_

"Hello? I am not so boring that you should go off into a daydream." He huffs, visibly annoyed by your lapse in attention. Your face burns up and you jump slightly, startled that the Englishman had stopped rambling long enough to notice you'd started imagining naughtier things. He eyes you sternly before realizing exactly what you'd been doing. "I never! I do believe that's quite enough for your little article-what is this even for!"

And before you can get another word in edgewise, particularly about his involvement with America, you're ushered out and promptly locked out of the Englishman's flat, flustered but with all the data you needed.


End file.
